


Scientific Method

by cestus



Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-13
Updated: 2011-05-13
Packaged: 2017-10-19 09:01:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/199150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cestus/pseuds/cestus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As with all discoveries, there had to be a first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scientific Method

Written for [lannamichael's](http://lannamichaels.dreamwidth.org) prompt on [ fic-promptly,](http://fic-promptly.dreamwidth.org) Vorkosigan Saga, Captain Negri, telepathy.

 

“It's like telepathy.” The informant rubs his right hand on his trousers, his left still clutching white round the courier pouch, and glances nervously at the door. It's locked. According to security reports, no Cetagandan patrols are due for at least the next twenty hours. For once they have all the time they need.

“So the techs're saying, anyway,” he adds, gaze tracking from one buzz-cut man to the other. Sweat's collecting on his top lip and he reaches up, brushing it away, fingers touching – one, two - to his tongue in a strange greedy gesture.

Negri tugs a sachet of white powder from his pocket and dangles it, watching the man swallow, his eyes dilate. Funny the effects drugs have on the human psyche. And an extra irony here that this type is purchasing another, one potentially far more valuable.

“Look I dunno, okay, they didn't tell me what the hell it does, just that they're callin' it fast-penta, and it's getting results. Hell of a lot better than pulling out fingernails and breaking teeth anyways.” He sniggers and then scrambles when Negri tosses the sachet a foot from his flailing hands. The pouch drops to the floor and, between one eye-blink and the next, it's in Negri's hands and the informant is thrown face-first into the door, arms high and tight behind his back. He pants, eyes wide in terror at the realization that he's just lost his only bargaining chip.

“It's the right stuff, honest. Tested and everything. Guaranteed.”

“And better than traditional methods,” Negri says, unzipping the pouch and drawing out one of the five syringes safely nestled inside. His hands do not shake but they should. What this could mean to the war effort is incalculable. But he has to be sure.

He jostles the hypo gently and raises his head, fixing his eyes on the informant. For the greater good. “Of course,” he says, “the scientific method, what an excellent idea. Hold him still, sergeant. Let's compare the two and see.”


End file.
